


Dirty (Blond) Little Secret

by lynne_monstr



Series: Everything's better with tentacles [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Consentacles, Light Bondage, M/M, Secrets, Tentacles, okay so it's more like tentacle foreplay than tentacle sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn has a secret. And that secret is tentacles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty (Blond) Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when tumblr anons talk to me about tentacles. I write tentacle fic.

Eliot knows Quinn’s hiding something. Something big. It’s in the little things. The way Quinn licks his lips all the freaking time lately. The nervous energy that’s typical on a job, but not so typical at the breakfast nook on a Sunday morning when neither of them are working. How their friendly spars have taken on a not-so friendly edge of tension, like Eliot’s somehow become the enemy.

He’s expecting something unpleasant. Like maybe Quinn’s decided being with Eliot ain’t worth not being a bad-guy anymore. Whatever it is, Eliot’s bracing for impact.

Impact turns out to be, “There’s this family curse,” and “how do you feel about tentacles?”

At first, Eliot thinks it’s a joke. Hardison’s been screeching ‘bout payback ever since Eliot bought out Portland’s entire supply of orange soda as a joke. Could be he recruited a little help. But Quinn’s got this constipated look on his face kinda like that split second in Kiev, when he’d thought Eliot had shown up to give him the beat-down of his life while he was already at a disadvantage.

Apparently, Quinn’s a big fan of the show-and-tell method of proving a point, and Eliot certainly doesn’t yelp when a dozen _tentacles_ —there’s no other word for it—shoot out from somewhere behind Quinn.

(“You definitely yelped,” Quinn says later, when they’re tangled together on the bed.

“It was a vocal expression of surprise, man. Get over yourself.” He’d swat the smug look off Quinn’s face, but ‘tangled together’ has recently taken on a whole new meaning in Eliot’s book and it ain’t worth the trouble of disentangling himself.)

And alright, Eliot regularly faces down gangbangers and drug cartels with not much more than a baseball bat and a smile, but he might be slightly freaking out when he reaches a hand to touch one of the smaller tentacle things. Why can’t Quinn just have normal secrets, like maybe he accepted a hit on Eliot because the money was good and now he needs Eliot’s help faking Eliot’s death. No, Eliot gets to deal with something straight from the depths of Hardison’s porn folder.

But then the little golden-brown hued tentacle curls around his pinky finger, and okay, that’s kind of adorable. He laughs.

The hard line of Quinn’s lips eases somewhat, which Eliot is happy to see.

Which is when he realizes, “They match your hair.” A bark of laughter follows and then Quinn is full-on pouting.

“It always comes down to hair with you, doesn’t it.”

“Hey I ain’t the one with hair-colored tentacles, man. And just because some of us take care of it and don’t just throw it up in a ponytail all the time…” Eliot runs his free hand through his hair to make his point.

Except he doesn’t. A dirty blond tentacle, larger than the previous one, shoots forward and wraps around his wrist, stopping him. The grip isn’t tight, but at the same time, it’s solid. Eliot tugs a little harder, but there’s no give. Figures. Quinn’s strong and fast, so why wouldn’t his tentacles be? And there’s a thought Eliot never thought he’d be thinking.

He looks over at Quinn and can practically see his eyes darken. A large, thick tentacle prods at Eliot’s chest until he’s lying flat on his back on the bed. Meanwhile, one of the skinnier ones slips under his shirt and Eliot can’t help the gasp that follows.

Hey it tickles, give a guy a break.

The gasp turns into a groan as the tentacle dips into his navel on its way up his chest and over a nipple.

“Hell of a family curse,” he jokes, in an attempt to keep some control over himself.

Quinn raises an eyebrow, like he knows Eliot’s trying to distract himself and has graciously decided not to call him on it. “My great-great-great-grandfather was an assassin and killed someone he shouldn’t have. Local witch cursed all the males in the family, so the story goes.”

“Most people would see that as a deterrent to taking up our line of work.”

“I figured I was already cursed. Hardly seemed like reason enough not to do what I’m good at.”

Another tentacle rubs at the sensitive patch of skin behind Eliot’s ear, and whatever he’s gonna say in return is lost to the fire singing along every nerve in his body. He breathes sharp through his nose as his body lights up.

How the hell, _how the hell can some tentacle know that—_

Higher brain power returns to him and so does realization. Not some tentacle. _Quinn_. Quinn liked to suck on that same damn spot ever since he figured out it was practically hardwired to Eliot’s cock.

Eliot blinks and when he opens his eyes, Quinn is leaning over him, pupils blown wide as he watches.

He can’t help but stare at the slight fuzz of hair on Quinn’s upper lip. Giving into temptation, he leans up and kisses it, kisses Quinn. So what if the guy has tentacles. It’s not like Eliot’s perfect. He says as much when they break the kiss, and then they’re kissing again, and there are hands twisting tight in Eliot’s hair. Eliot reaches up to cup Quinn’s face and the tentacle on his arm moves with him.

He can feel a bunch more winding their way around his legs and up his torso as their touches turn heated.

Quinn glances over at the tentacle still wrapped around Eliot’s wrist. It’s winding its way up along his forearm like a vine, towards the one curving over Eliot’s shoulder.

“Can you break the hold,” he asks, genuinely curious and just a little out of breath.

It makes Eliot wonder if he’s ever showed them to anyone before.

“Not to anyone who was alive afterwards to talk about it,” Quinn answers. “They’re useful in a fight,” he adds with a shrug, flashing the kind of dangerous grin he wears when he’s outgunned and surrounded and just waiting for an opening to strike and bring it all down.

It shouldn’t be a turn on but it is.

“Useful, huh? I bet.”

“Know what else they’re useful for?” There’s a gleam in Quinn’s eye and suddenly all the tentacles holding Eliot tighten, pinning him in place.

He debates maybe ending this whole thing before it gets out of hand, but finds himself reluctant to do so. Normally, he’s not a fan of being tied. It takes precious time to get out of it when things go wrong and it tends to bring back unpleasant memories. But the thought that this is all Quinn holding him down, wrapped tight around his limbs, pinning him and running rough hands over him all at once—yeah, he can work with that.

The rush of heat that flushes his chest and pools in his stomach seems to agree.

He swallows as he catches sight of the rest of the writhing tentacles framing the air around them. A flash of what it might be like to have them not just wrapped around him but _inside_ him makes his spine arch almost right off the damn bed.

The world comes back into focus and Eliot grins a mouthful of teeth. “Show me what you got.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd kind of like to write the smutty second half to this, but so far it hasn't happened yet. Maybe one day I will...


End file.
